The Half Breeds
by Avaril
Summary: The Avari wish to be heard. Haldir is lonely. Legolas escapes his father. Elladan and Elrohir are dangerously bored. Rumil and Orophin search for the perfect lay...has angst, humour, tears, and drama. PLS READ AND REVIEW...:)
1. A nightrider

Author: Bird

Title: Half Breed

Chapter: Prologue – A Nightrider

Pairings: Haldir/OFC, Legolas/OFC, Elladan/OFC/Elrohir/OFC, Thranduil/OFCs, Rumil and Orophin/OFCs...

Rating: R overall/ HET (NC-17 version is at AFFN or Open Scrolls…

Warnings: the warnings will be by chapter…in this one…sexuality and rude language

Disclaimer: I own the OCs … but not much else…Morwë is owned by Tolkien…

Summary: Haldir needs distraction. Legolas runs-away. The Twins are bored. Rumil and Orophin want to get laid. And the Avari want to be heard...

Notes: Hwenti – an Avarin word created by Tolkien. He had created six words, all derived from the primitive elvish word Kwendi "The People". For the purposes of this story, I am using them as the titles of six individual tribes of the Avari, and not actual language groups.

Timeline: Post War of the Ring during the early-ish Forth Age (no exact date will be given)

Setting: Endore (otherwise known as Middle Earth, and basically the whole of Arda.) All places will be in their elvish names as this story is completely from Elven points-of-view.

Betas: Amy and Kath (the sweet dears putting up with my ADD and constantly changing mind…:P)

**------------**

_**Beware of the devil my child**_

_**Beware of his charming ways**_

_**You'll fall under an evil spell**_

_**Just looking at his beautiful face**_

_**(Build a Levee, N. Merchant)**_

**------------**

Moonlight filtered through the loosely sewn edges of the canvas tent, playing upon her lashes. She watched it, listening to the quiet movements of the ellon moving behind her. Clutching the thin blanket tightly against her naked chest, Carniwen turned to face her husband while he silently pulled on his breeches. With the silver light speckling his back, she traced with her eyes every defined muscle, hardened to rock from years of fighting and war. Every ridge and rise, she knew and could find with her eyes closed, rippled with his movement.

Feeling her eyes upon him, Morwë turned to face her with a sneer on his face. His gaze dissolved to smoldering as he recalled the events of just moments before. No matter what distrust and disloyalty they held between each other, she still responded to him the same way. That is why he kept her; why he returned to her bed night after night. She knew exactly what made his body scream with pleasure.

Even now, as he was preparing to leave, he felt his body respond to her sensuality. Light played in her auburn hair, casting a red tint to the moonlight reflecting off of her. He watched the slow rise of her breast beneath the blanket thin enough to allow her hardened nipples to be obvious. The filtered light accented every curve and muscle of her body, bouncing off of her pale skin.

Steeling himself against the desire that welled up within him, Morwë pulled on his under tunic, covering her view of the hard body he knew she could not deny.

Picking up his belt from off the tent floor, he slipped it through the loops of his sword's sheath before buckling it around his waist. He pulled out the gleaming weapon, and admiring its beauty ran his thumb lightly across the blade in a test of its sharpness. Carniwen's eyes followed the flashing edge to the tip, as the sword curved wickedly. She shut her eyes, knowing of the countless of lives that same weapon had taken over the course of millennia.

"I am leaving." He stated matter-of-factly, pulling his boots on and lacing them.

Her eyes flashed open, full of fire. He could see the pain and anger that dwelt there, though her response was colder than ice.

"You always leave," she calmly replied. "It shall be no different."

Ignoring her tone, he shrugged into his outer robe that swept the floor, looping the buttons closed down the front from neck to waist. The color of light beige, it covered him from neck to wrist to foot, and hung loosely about him. She noticed that he'd not bound his hair, and it flowed in a sheet of jet to his waist like a shroud.

"I am going to Harad, and I do not know when I will return."

She stood wrapping her blanket about her tighter and approached him. Standing so close, she could feel his hot breath against her, and he could feel hers. His whole being emanated heat, and it filled her own body with tingling warmth. Flooded with the moon's light, his whole being lit up. All glowed except his eyes, where no light could enter and left dark bottomless abysses. Her face was shadowed by darkness though her eyes sparkled with fire, and she could see his mouth twitch with a repressed smirk.

"You always come back to me, despite how much you despise me," he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her ear and sending shivers down her naked spine. Reaching up, he captured a curl spiraling down across her shoulder, allowing the tendril to wrap softly around his finger. This time when he spoke, he flicked his tongue out lightly tasting the edge of her ear, eliciting a small moan she could not repress. "You are my Hwenti whore. Mine, and mine alone."

When he spoke, she pulled back from him with pure unadulterated hatred in her expression.

"You are returning to Harad to find him, are you not?" She questioned him, stilling the shudder he caused in her. Desire and rage threatened to overwhelm her, and she fought for control over her emotions.

Starting from one corner of his mouth, a smile crept cross his lips.

"Aye," he whispered. Grabbing her wrist, he jerked her forward, crushing his lips to hers. Devouring her mouth, he left her completely ravished. After all these years, she was still completely delicious and left him with a delirious rush. How he would miss her. But he would return with Nurwë, and they would find her to be most useful in the changing times to come.

Pulling back from her, he was met again by her searing expression as if she wished to set him aflame. "My _lady_," he chuckled. Giving her a mocking half bow, he backed out of the tent into the cool desert night air.

Outside stood his already prepared beast, saddled and bridled, waiting for his familiar weight on its back. The white creature snorted, the night air cooling its hot breath to wisps of ghostly shapes. Watching him with interest, it thrust its head forward, reaching out for him as he stood thoughtfully outside the door for a brief moment. Shaking its head disapprovingly at its master, the horse jingled the tiny silver beads threaded through its wavy mane glinting in the night. Other than the beads, the animal was undecorated.

Morwe stared unseeingly into the distance.

The sandy dunes basked in the glow of the moon, and the stars sparkled above. But the beauty of the night did not move him, as he steeled his resolve to take the next step.

Finally becoming aware of the horse's soft noises, he moved next to it and murmured quietly to calm it. Gripping its withers and the reins with his left hand, he inserted his foot into the stirrup and threw his other leg over its back. He settled into the saddle, listening to the creaking of the leather beneath him.

Morwë was an awesome sight, glowing in the moonlight like some pale deliverer of death in his light robes and on his stunningly white mare. All but his eyes and hair glowed in the pale moonlight.

With one last heated glance at the tent, he reined his horse toward the west, pressing his heels firmly into the animal's flanks. In a spurt of energy, the rider and horse flew into the night, his dark hair flapping behind him wildly.

Carniwen closed her eyes shutting out the light listening to his rapidly disappearing hoof beats in the distance. She could not be sure if she was relieved or frightened that he was gone, knowing that when he returned they would both be here.


	2. Father and Son

Author: Bird

Title: The Half Breeds

Chapter: Father and Son

Rating: R overall (NC-17 version is at either AFFN or Open Scrolls…or 

Pairings: Let's see, all the normal ones…Haldir/OFC, Legolas/OFC, TWINS/OFC…Thranduil/OFC…Various OMCs/OFCs…etc…

Warnings: Some sexuality…a fight between Father and Son…

Disclaimer: I own the OCs … but not much else…

Summary: Most of the Elves have sailed, but there are still quite a few left…Haldir is lonely. Elladan and Elrohir are bored. Legolas wishes to escape his home. Rumil and Orophin wish to find bed partners. The Avari want to be heard…

Timeline: Post War of the Ring during the early-ish/mid Forth Age (no exact date will be given)

Setting: Endore (otherwise known as Middle Earth, and basically the whole of Arda.) All places will be in their elvish names as this story is completely from Elven points-of-view.

Betas: Amy and Kath (the sweet dears putting up with my ADD and constantly changing mind…:P)

I b center 

Golden boy

Beauty untamed

Stupid and wild

(Natalie Merchant, Golden Boy)

/center /b /I 

Slam.

Legolas pressed his back against the door, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes frantically searched the stone hanging overhead as his lips formed a silent 'why me.' He did not want this!

Sighing, he relaxed a bit, sliding down the cold wood till he hit the stone floor. Cradling his aching head, he replayed every word spoken in anger, every hateful glare. The weight would crush him if he didn't harden his emotions.

He swept his eyes across the room, committing to memory every simple aspect of it. The rumpled bed in the center; the fireplace against the far wall partitioned off by two wooden straight-backed chairs, and the warm fur rug stretched out before the flames; the gilded mirror, the only legacy remaining of his mother. His washbasin and table, and a simplistic wardrobe, those were the extent of his possessions. A few tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of woodland life, hunting, riding…and the many animals that lived in the surrounding forest. A soft glow filled the room from the three lamps set into the wall.

By no means was it lavish. Nothing like his father…

Knock. Knock.

"Go away." He stood and forced himself harder against the door, spreading his long legs out and bracing himself.

"You are acting like an elfling!" The anger in Thranduil's voice no longer affected the prince as Legolas steeled his heart against any remorse. "YOU are the PRINCE of Eryn Lasgalen! YOU must accept your position!" Crinkling his nose into a sneer, the king pounded heavily against the door. Capturing the handle with his hands behind his back, Legolas could feel it twisting as his father tried to barge in. But he was no longer an elfling.

"Adar, you can no longer overpower me with your strength alone." The door handle ceased to turn, and he could sense his father pausing as if to ponder his son's words.

Thranduil leaned forward, his forehead against the oak. Closing his eyes, he pictured his son on the other side of the door. His mirror image, physically and in temperament. Golden hair pulled back in a severe warrior knots crowned him, crystal blue eyes that flashed dangerously when challenged, and a lean, sinewy form hardened from a thousand years of training and war.

The exact image of Thranduil in his youth.

And the same rebel spirit.

"YOU are too old to behave like this!" The king bellowed as Legolas threw the door open to face his angry father.

"I do not wish to be king! Would you be willing to leave your subjects in the hands of a 'reckless youth', as YOU yourself put it?" Both stood with their legs slightly apart, hands clenched in fists at their sides. Pale blue bore into pale blue. The only difference was the slightly larger older elf and the more slender younger elf.

Ellon and ellon were bathed in a flickering light from the torches lined along the corridor, and it glinted off their golden tresses. Shadows found the angles of their aristocratic features, magnifying the anger lining their faces. Jaws clenched in stubborn pride.

"If I have to tie you…"

"TIE me to the throne? And what good…"

"I will BEAT you in…"

"Into submission! Right. And how would that look?"

An elf-maid walked into the hall and stopped abruptly at the sight of the king and prince yelling at each other in the cavernous corridor. Timidly she stood by, waiting for them to finish. She dared not seek their attention. Everyone was used to these outbursts between father and son, and had learned early on that to step between them was to secure the wrath of both.

Finally aware of another, Thranduil whipped around to face the subdued maiden.

"What?"

She dipped into a graceful curtsy under his critical eye, tipping her head so that her golden tresses swept the floor. Straightening to her full height, she met his cold expression.

"My lord…" she began. Legolas cut her off.

"Adar, you may go back to the drudgery of ruling, but I am leaving!" Though he still watched the elleth, Thranduil replied to his son.

"Did the War teach you nothing…Nothing? You fought beside King Elessar, and yet you still seek to shirk your duties…" He caressed her with his eyes, snaking his tongue out to moisten his bottom lip. Legolas followed his father's line of sight, knowing full well where the king's attentions lay. Her eyes were downcast, but he sensed that she knew exactly what the king was doing to her with his gaze. She virtually glowed from Thranduil's homage to her.

"At least I don't bed every female in my kingdom to drown my sorrows…" Slammed against the wall with Thranduil's fingers wrapped around his throat, Legolas was more amused than worried. He chuckled boldly at the elleth's small gasp of shock and fear. Over his father's shoulder, past the rage, she stood pressed against the opposite wall, her eyes wide with terror. He smirked at the thought of how her father would soothe her later. Whisper sweet nothings into her ear as he took her, again and again…even then it wouldn't be enough. Not now. Not ever.

"What would you know of my sorrows, Gwanwen dead one?" Tightening his fingers, Thranduil pressed his cheek to his son's, whispering in his ear, his breath tickling against sensitive skin. "If you do not take responsibility, you are dead to me, Gwanwen." Legolas slumped against the door when his father dropped his hand from his neck. Rubbing the reddened skin of his throat, the prince glared up at the king. A snarl appeared on his face as he stood once again to face him.

"You were dead to me a long time ago," he hissed. Turning on his heel, he entered his chambers while his father watched him from the corridor. The elleth also watched from behind the king, clasping her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out at the words and actions of the two. Father and son had never gotten along well, but since the king had started pressuring the prince to begin his training to eventually replace him…well, things had gotten worse.

Everything had finally reached a peak, and the volcano had erupted.

Thranduil followed his son's movements. A sword was strapped to his side, knives holstered to his back, bow slung over his shoulder, and a quiver stocked with arrows hung on his other. Facing away from the door, Legolas stopped to examine himself in the mirror mounted on the opposite wall. His father stared at him, standing with his arms across his chest, and their eyes met in the mirror. For split second, both were sure the other would break, but neither did and neither would.

Pride. Foolish, stubborn pride on both sides. Or was it a false sense of surety that the other would see the 'error' of his ways and come crawling before the other? Neither would do that either.

His heart broke at the sight of his son, his only child. Something tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he looked down into bright, big eyes, glistening with some untold mischief. Mussed blonde hair stuck out everywhere from the child's head. His little fingers gripped the edge of his father's tunic, tugging it hard. He was speaking, his small mouth silently moving as he related whatever horror he'd dragged the servants through…again.

Thranduil could not help smiling.

"So you are happy to see me leave?" The edge in Legolas' voice broke him from his memories. Here stood that same elfling, grown and angry…and leaving. His own expression hardened, narrowing his eyes.

"You know my feelings, but you make your own choice. Just remember that only one path will allow you to stay here."

Legolas snorted, waving away his father's words. "Then step aside and let me go." He slipped past him into the corridor and stopped before the elleth still against the wall. Smirking, he bowed to her, taking her trembling hand in his. He pressed his lips to her knuckles and raised his head to stare her straight in the eye. "I hope he enjoys you greatly." Tears rolled down her cheeks as he winked at her, smiling cruelly.

Eyes shut, Thranduil breathed deeply through his nose as his son's footsteps faded down the corridor, his fists clenched at his side. Tossing his head back, he stretched his powerful neck and exhaled slowly, desperately trying to release the repressed emotions. A tiny whimper caused him to flash his eyes open and abruptly face the tearful maiden.

Clutching her knees to her chest, she looked up at her king in all his shining glory. Even now he was an impressive sight. His tresses fell about him in waves of golden wheat, and eyes the color of the sky roamed over her again eagerly. It was true, she thought. He would take her, and mostly likely to ease his torment.

Thranduil stopped his gaze from caressing her, bringing his fist to his mouth and biting the knuckles gently to remind him of his son's words. He hated them, because of the truth they bore. Turning from her, he battled with the urge to take her now and relieve his pain for a brief moment. Otherwise he would just go to his rooms never to find rest.

"Leave. Go. Now." He barely whispered the words, tensing his body afraid it would take control. He looked over his shoulder at her again. She had not moved, but watched like a doe cornered in the forest. Once again the king was the hunter waiting to pierce the prey with his arrow. Her frightened expression had been replaced with a naïve expression of wonder and expectation.

She was familiar, but he had never taken her to his bed before. He had flirted with her previously, so she knew his mind. Making his decision he turned back to face the wall. He drew his tongue across his lips.

"Run." He sensed her hesitation, so he faced her again. "Run."

She was down the corridor before the smirk reached the corners of his mouth.

The horse whinnied in protest as Legolas cinched the saddle tight beneath its belly. Turning its head, the horse shook it angrily at the distracted prince. Pausing for a moment, he pressed his head against the animal's side, reveling in the contact with the warm flesh. Filling his lungs with a deep breath, Legolas shut his eyes. The stable was warm despite the cool night's air outside, and a warm light filled the building. Soft straw covered the floor, and the only sounds were the soft breathing of the animals sheltered within each stall.

"My lord?" Legolas jumped a bit, startled by the intrusion. Silence permeated the stable for minute. "My lord?" The elf repeated.

"What is it, Celegrod?" Legolas resumed saddling his stallion. The bay stamped in frustration as its rider eased the bridle over its head, buckling the side. Pulling the reins over the horse's head, he gripped them loosely in his hand as he turned to face the white-haired elf behind him. Tiredness filled his eyes.

"My lord…"

"Don't. Stop." Legolas turned back to the animal, and stepped carefully into the stirrup and swung his leg over. Settling into the saddle, he looked back down to Celegrod. "He sent you, didn't he?"

"No, my lo…" the elf started in protest.

"Please do not call me that, I am not deserving of such titles…" he sighed. Clicking his tongue, he guided the bay past Celegrod.

"He took her, you know." The matter-of-factness in the guard's voice irked the prince, and he stopped at the stable doors.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he nodded, "I know."

Celegrod walked into the stall next to the one Legolas had just emptied, coaxing the grey speckled mare within out with his soft whispers.

"What are you doing?" Legolas exasperated.

"Coming with you, Legolas." Celegrod didn't look at him or acknowledge the icy stare aimed at his back. Calmly he prepared his own horse and mounted. Settled in, he finally met the prince's eyes. He ran a hand through his white tresses, keeping his eyes on Legolas. "I will not let you go alone. Your father knows nothing of this. I am making this choice on my own." He patted the weapons at his side to emphasize his preparedness for the risks.

"You must know that he will deem you a traitor!?" Legolas was not sure he believed this. True, the two of them had been friends since birth, but to risk the wrath of the king and the pain of death for desertion and loyalty to one? "You MUST not come with me!"

Celegrod's coal-grey eyes never wavered. "No, you cannot change my mind…" Legolas sighed in defeat, and pressed his stallion forward through the doors. The cold night-air hit his face like a slap. Breathless for a moment from the sensation, he discreetly rubbed his cheek expecting to feel it bruising, as if Thranduil himself had slapped him. He jerked a bit to shake away thoughts of what he was leaving behind. Instead he gazed up, letting the stars bathe him in their silver-sparkling light. Deep inside he felt so lost despite his warrior exterior and calm assuredness.

"Where are we going?"

Slowly, Legolas turned his head to face Celegrod, who had ridden up beside him. Barely forming a response, he mouthed something inaudible. Celegrod's questioning expression was enough to make the prince find his voice.

"I don't know…" he whispered hoarsely.

The other elf smiled sardonically, clicking his tongue and urging his mare forward. "Then I suggest you follow me…"

-------------------

Legolas was gone. Blank eyes stared at the ceiling, glowing in the pitch-blackness. A pain stabbed at a long forgotten organ in his chest. Images danced before his eyes of his own father fighting with him to take responsibility. He had refused, and then they went to war.

If only their last words hadn't been in anger.

He could feel her breathing beside him, curled up against his side. Disdain filled him, for her and for his own lack of self-control, his use of sex to fill the aching void inside.

"Your majesty," a feminine voice stirred him from his thoughts. He felt her slender hand skim down his bare chest to playfully dance in the nest of curls below his abdomen. "You are still tense, my lord." Every muscle in his body flexed as she traced a line to his navel, circling lightly. She gasped when his hand shot out and gripped her wrist, pulling her away from him. Gently he placed her hand on the blankets between them and sat up, swinging his legs over the side.

For a moment, he forgot her again as he wiggled his toes in the soft fur of the rug. Then he felt her shift on the bed toward him.

Nails lightly raked his shoulder blades and down his back, tracing every ridge and muscle. She knelt behind him, bashfully exploring his naked flesh. Her nimble fingers slowly caressed their way over his biceps to link across his broad chest. She rose up, pressing her hardened nipples against his back; her chin nestled on his shoulder.

"My lord," she gently breathed into his ear. "Allow me to love you one more time tonight…" A moist tongue snaked out to trace the edge of his earlobe, and she felt him tremble ever so slightly.

At first he didn't move, but disgust slowly began to fill him, not just for her, but for himself as well. He grasped her hands and pulled them apart, releasing himself from her embrace.

"I am going out," he stated, rising from the bed. Throwing a look over his shoulder to the elleth watching him in confusion, he pulled on his leggings. "You may stay if you wish, or you may go, but be out of my bed by sunrise." Thranduil didn't bother with a jerkin or boots, but closed the door behind him as he made his way down the hall.

Bewildered and wondering what she had done wrong, tears welled up in the spurned elleth's eyes.


	3. And morning comes

Author: Bird

Title: The Half Breeds

Chapter: Morning comes…

Rating: R overall (NC-17 version is archived at Open Scrolls, , AFFN, and 

Pairings: Let's see, all the normal ones…Haldir/OFC, Legolas/OFC, TWINS/OFC…Thranduil/OFC…Various OMCs/OFCs…etc…

Warnings: Some sexuality…

Disclaimer: I own the OCs … but not much else…

Summary: Most of the Elves have sailed, but there are still quite a few left…Haldir is lonely. Elladan and Elrohir are bored. Legolas wishes to escape his home. Rumil and Orophin wish to find bed partners. The Avari want to be heard…

NOTES: Kinn-Lai, another Avarin word created by Tolkien – the tribe of the Avari in Khand for the purposes of my story…

Ranohtar means Wandering Warrior…(befitting a nomadic Avari…:P)

Hithaeglir – elvish for the Misty Mountains…

Timeline: Post War of the Ring during the early-ish/mid Forth Age (no exact date will be given)

Setting: Endore (otherwise known as Middle Earth, and basically the whole of Arda.) All places will be in their elvish names as this story is completely from Elven points-of-view.

Betas: Amy and Kath (the sweet dears putting up with my ADD and constantly changing mind…:P)

b I center -------

Do I have to put the law on you baby  
for all the wicked things you do

(Natalie Merchant, Put the Law on You)

------- /center /I /b 

"Anor rises despite us." Legolas stared blankly at the looming Hithaeglir, piercingly white from the eastern light reflecting off the blankets of snow.

Both riders stood on the edge of Eryn Lasgalen at the beginning of the forest road. Nodding in agreement, Celegrod waited for the prince to steel his resolve. Flitting thoughts of returning graced his mind briefly, but the guard knew that neither would ever give over to their stubbornness.

'He didn't try to stop me,' Legolas thought, blinking away tears though his expression remained hard and focused on the mountains in the west, nothing giving away his turmoil. Silence, except for the morning song of the birds, echoed through the morning air, and soon the calls of other animals joined the birds.

The emotions of an elf could not stop the world from turning.

Shadow still engulfed them since the sun had not risen high enough to defeat the dark of the forest. The light reflecting off the mountains was too weak to reach them from such a far distance. Legolas thought it fitting that it matched the heaviness in his soul. A deep chasm of blackness in his heart kept him from accepting the light his father offered…

After a moment, Legolas willed away his regrets and shifted in his saddle. "Celegrod, where are you leading me?"

"To those who understand you the best…" Celegrod did not look at his companion, but nodded toward the west. "Beyond those mountains, mellon." Legolas squinted his eyes…

Imladris. Imladris was beyond those mountains. The prince swore under his breath, but Celegrod still heard him and chuckled.

"I trust that it is fond memories you are swearing at…" the guard tilted his head and grinned at Legolas. Shaking his head, a small smile crept across Legolas' previously scowling features.

"I was just thinking of the last time I was with the twins, at Pelannor Fields." Both paused for a moment to reflect upon the last war. The Sons of Elrond had aided the now dead king of Gondor. It bewildered and saddened them to think upon their old friend Aragorn. In a war so disastrous, the whole of Arda was changed. Then the life of the one who had fought for so much was gone quicker than candle flame in the wind. That is to an elf of three millennia.

Breaking the silence, Legolas looked over at Celegrod. "Do you think they are still there? Surely they must have gone somewhere. I thought they would've become extremely bored by ruling…"

"Last news we had, they had replaced Elrond as the Masters of Rivendell, my lord."

"I said don't call me that…"

"My apologies it will not happen again."

Pressing his heel into the stallion's flanks, Legolas rode toward the mountains. "I suppose then we should go." Celegrod followed quietly as the prince walked his horse slowly into the brightening day. He could not help but notice how magnificent and like his father Legolas seemed. Despite all, Legolas glowed, radiating warmth and light…even in the darkness of depression.

-----

Twitching his nose, Thranduil batted at a piece of fluff that bothered him as he slept. Irritated that it would not leave him, he opened one eye only to be greeted by two dark eyes. Sleep still filled his eyes, thus blurring the features of the being standing over him.

A cry escaped the lips of the person, as he leapt at them. Coming to his senses, Thranduil blinked and felt with his hands the softness of the being beneath him. Unsure if he should be angered or relieved by the presence of the trembling chambermaid whimpering under him, he stared at her coldly.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded. She was fairly young, and he knew her as Legolas' personal chamber servant. Her name eluded him, and he was fairly certain he'd never bedded her. Ellyth who'd not seen the inside of the king's chambers were few and far between, and it intrigued him to meet them on the rare occasions he did.

"I-I have come to clean the prince's chambers, your majesty." Her small voice wavered.

He could smell her innocence and fear, and it touched him. Softening his gaze, Thranduil rose off the elleth to his haunches beside her, reaching out a hand to help her rise. She shook as she laid her slender palm in his, engulfed by his massive hand. He relished the feel and warmth of her smooth skin.

Aiding her to stand, he reverted to his typical sneer. "Did you always wake my son in such a manner…?"

"I-I am sorry, sire, b-but I was not expecting to find you in Prince Legolas' bed…" she flushed deeply as she stammered out her explanation.

He dropped her hand and sat on the edge of the bed facing her. "You may continue with your duties then." Waving his hand nonchalantly for her to go about her business, he leaned upon one elbow, watching her every move. Under his critical eye, the elleth could barely walk. The king was not one to be familiar with, wasn't that what everyone said? She had heard about his promiscuousness, but in extremely hushed whispers. Was this something he sought from her now…

"Do not fear me. I will not harm you," he broke into her thoughts. She risked looking at him, scanning over his body briefly. He wore only brown leggings, the rest of him magnificently exposed. Golden waves spilled about his shoulders, and she was horrified that he would behave so casually before her.

But he was not watching her anymore. Instead his attentions were cast about the room, evaluating the sparse and plain decorations and furniture.

"I have no son." The elleth dropped the book she had lifted to dust the bedside table. Turning, she stared in confusion at the king.

"Y-your majesty?" She gripped the table behind her, trying desperately to steady her already shot nerves. His calmness disturbed her, especially as he swept his free arm in a wide arc indicating the entire room.

"All of this. Have some of the guards come up here and burn it. Tell them to take everything to the courtyard in front of the gates. Burn it till nothing remains but a pile of smoking ashes." He stood, stretching his arms casually over his head. Still scanning the room as he did so, his eyes alighted upon the gilded mirror across from the bed.

Her mirror, here it hung the only thing of dainty and decorative beauty. Briefly his eyes softened as the forgotten scent of lavender wafted through his senses, a ghost of Legolas' mother. He could not remember when he had bestowed the gift upon his son, but fury replaced his curiosity. Gwanwen did not deserve it.

His voice dangerously low, he added, walking over to caress the inlaid gems. "Not this. Send Galion to remove it and take it to my chambers." His fingertips brushed lightly over the winding branches and leaves of precious stones, another flood of memories overwhelming him. Closing his eyes, he became lost in soft alabaster skin and silver hair, and a smile that could calm the fiercest firestorm. It was quickly replaced by screams and deadly silence.

Flashing his eyes open, he spoke over his shoulder to the stunned chambermaid, "Did you ever share Legolas' bed?" Her mouth fell open, unsure of how to answer such a blunt question. He faced her, searching her eyes for whatever truth he wished to find. Soon his eyes fell upon her figure, taking in her dark hair and indigo eyes. A simple off-white muslin dress adhered to her curves. The simplicity of her appearance was new to him, as he was used to ellyth dressed in silks and sheer gossamer.

"Are you of the Noldor?"

Confusion filled her mind at his sudden subject change.

"My lord?" She let go of the table, side stepping from him as he approached her.

"Your hair and eyes. You remind me of Elrond's people." The predator appeared for a brief second before slipping into the lamb's skin. He mirrored her steps, smiling benevolently down to her. The closer he drew to her, the more she felt like the rabbits her brothers had hunted in their youth. Soon he was so near, she could smell his male scent, the heat radiating off his body causing her to sweat a little.

"M-my l-lord, you mentioned something about not having a son? What did you mean? What has happened to Prince Legolas?" Swiftly she sidestepped away from him and whirled around to face his back, backing away a few feet. His muscles visibly tensed across his shoulders, and the look he gave her when he turned made her breath catch in her throat.

"Do not speak of Gwanwen any more." He was upon her so swiftly she blinked. Her legs were pressed against the side of the bed, and she had nowhere to go but to sit. Swallowing hard, she averted her eyes from the view of his chiseled abdomen. Strong hands stroked her tresses, and she barely kept herself from trembling, as his fingers grew bolder. Gliding over the skin of her neck, he knelt before her whispering in her ear, "Tell me truthfully, did you bed Legolas?" Tears brimmed in her eyes as he gripped her chin forcing her to look at him.

And there it was, the look of a hungry lion.

As she shook her head negatively, he grinned wickedly and claimed her lips in a bruising kiss. In her surprise, she gasped softly, opening her mouth enough for him to slip his tongue inside. One hand held her chin firmly, the other fisting tightly in her hair.

Forgotten was the maiden who'd stained his sheets with her tears. Forgotten was his disgust from the night before. And he hoped to drown his sorrows for a few hours in the arms of another…again.

She tasted of strawberries.

His tongue swept through her moist cavern, tasting and ravishing. But he could feel her reluctance, and a wave of guilt washed over him. Pulling back he saw the terror filling her eyes. Then he noticed that they were trained on something behind him.

"My lord," a somber voice floated him, and Thranduil glanced over his shoulder at the figure standing in the doorway.

"Galion." The king turned back to face the elleth, who now had fresh tears stinging her cheeks. Her face was flushed pink with embarrassment.

The valet bowed respectfully, though his expression was one of steeled displeasure. "How many more murdered hearts do you expect me to sweep under the rug this morning, your majesty?"

--------------

A ray of sunshine peeking through the seams of the tent woke her from fitful slumber. Jumping up, Carniwen took a moment to take in her surroundings. She was still in the tent. Sighing, she looked down at the mat, his side bitterly cold. Shivering despite the warmth of the desert air, she clutched her shoulders and looked around at their few possessions.

Such was the life of the Kinn-Lai, the nomadic elves of Khand. They carried nothing but the clothes on their backs, bedding, their tents and a horse. And their shining, gleaming wicked weapons, each lovingly crafted by the owner.

Carniwen crouched to the floor, feeling around blindly in the rumpled bedclothes. Her hand brushed against warm tooled leather, and she pulled out the sheathed dagger kept hidden beneath her pillow. She knew that Morwe knew she kept it. In fact he silently praised her caution and wariness, even if it was toward him.

Running her fingers over the tooled dragon wrapping itself around the sheath, she gripped it and pulled out the short blade. Yes, they were lovingly made. Carniwen held her breath momentarily as she remembered polishing the sharpened metal for the first time, many years ago, shortly after she'd met Morwë.

A soft rustling outside her tent caused her to stiffen, listening for whomever or whatever lurked nearby.

"My lady, do you plan to stay hidden all day?" Morwë's second in command, an elf she knew well. Pulling her tunic over her head, she grabbed her brown breeches and fumbled pulling them on. Her fingers deftly laced and tied them. Running her fingers through her hair, she took a breath. With Morwë gone, they would expect her to replace him, or at the very least counsel with his most trusted companions and warriors.

When she pulled the flap open, gripping the dagger behind her back, the sun blinded her. As her eyes adjusted, the dark form of Ranohtar greeted her. Holding her breath, Carniwen could not help staring at him, his muscled and lean form a sight to behold. She suddenly felt foolish under his piercing gaze. Before her stood the warrior, long an acquaintance of hers, in more ways than one. This was an inopportune time for her to think about such things, but his stoic presence always made her want to grab his shoulders and shake him to feeling.

"We have much to discuss." He gave her a polite but curt bow. Slipping the dagger into the back of her leggings, she stood so that her tunic covered it completely. She reached out with one hand and took his so that he helped her stand.

Ranohtar was dark, hair blacker than night, eyes green like the jungle's shadow, and skin the color of mahogany. And he dressed in midnight black cotton. But like Morwë, he wore a light-coloured cloak to reflect the sun's rays. Beneath the fabric of the cloak, she could see the outline of his own weapon.

Sure she would not notice, he allowed himself a moment to caress the forbidden with his own gaze. She was as fair as he was dark, though her hair reflected her name, red as the evening sun. A rare color among elves, it was a constant source of curiosity. She wore the palest shade of green cotton, a pattern of cream woven through.

One was only allowed to taste of her pleasures once, a gift bestowed to seal loyalty. But the taster was always left with a lingering thirst. And his thirst was lusty, as lusty as her curves. As lusty as his half-breed heart.

"You may want to wear your protective coat," he stated flatly, indicating the blazing sun rising boldly in the east. "The wind is picking up as well." She suddenly noticed the sandy air.

"Of course," she replied, ducking back in and grabbing the worn floor-sweeping jacket. Standing in front of Ranohtar, she slipped her arms into to the sleeves and hooked the toggles up the front. The thin material was light enough to breathe in the heat, and light-coloured to ward off the warmth of the sun. "Now, what do you wish to discuss with me?" She questioned, shielding her eyes with her palm from the wind blown sands.

"Matters concerning Lord Morwë's departure." He began as they walked toward the communal area and tent of their small band. The Kinn-lai were numerous but not tightly knit. Before Carniwen had arrived as the newly bonded of the Lord Morwë, this tribe had already split into countless roving bands. It was true that in times of need they still relied on his guidance, and correspondence was constant. However, she would not have called them kin or friend.

She paused as they neared the larger community tent. The wind flapped the sides, and it still amazed her that in a place where the sun was a permanent fixture, no clouds to give a break to the heat and light, that the wind could be so furious.

Ranohtar pulled back the door flaps of the tent and waited for her to enter before he followed. Several lamps were lit and set upon the two tables at the center of the area. Strewn across them were several maps and letters of correspondence. He signaled for her to go to the tables and review the papers.

Peering down at the parchments, she sifted through them curiously, running her fingertips lightly over the lines of ink. Suddenly Carniwen looked up at him, stunned. Ranohtar blended into the dark shadows of the tent, the dull black eating any light that hit him. Expressionless, he'd just watched her the entire time, waiting for her to ask the expected question.

"Valinor?"


End file.
